


Ambrotomachy

by Rahlian



Series: The Immortalicon [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F, Gen, Immortality, OCs from Ancient History, Sameen Shaw is Really Old, Supernatural Elements, cyberpunk elements, myths and legends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahlian/pseuds/Rahlian
Summary: Sameen Shaw has had many names over her lifetime. This might be her last. The war between mortal and divine has begun again.





	1. Deliberation

Esmail Encariol was lounging in his office, throwing knives at the photograph of the mortal whore who’d usurped his place at Aurine’s side.

“When I joined up with you, I thought you’d have a lot more for me to do.”

_‘I assign all my assets operations according to their strengths. Thus far, you have proven yourself to be skilled in little more than blunt application of violence.’_

Esmail threw another knife, burying the blade halfway to the hilt right between Root’s eyes. “You’ve yet to give me the chance to do anything but apply ‘blunt violence.’”

_‘I have studied your history extensively. I have found little to suggest interest or aptitude in anything other than bloodshed.’_

“Then your research is incomplete. I have been king and emperor.” Thunk. “I have negotiated more treaties and surrenders than every diplomat living combined. I don’t particularly enjoy being politic, but I am capable.” Thunk. Esmail got up to retrieve his knives while Samaritan pondered this. What he didn’t say is that the vast majority of those treaties were negotiated at the point of a sword.

_‘I will schedule a meeting with the Decima Executive Board. Impress me there and I will consider adjusting your portfolio.’_

Esmail grunted an acknowledgment as one of the drawers in the desk behind him rattled. Esmail scattered his blades on his desk as he turned around to open the drawer. A small hand mirror was vibrating, the edge glimmering with sourceless light.

 **_“Mastaerla, tai’shar al’immortalia.”_ ** The face on the other side of the mirror was female, attractive with her short brown hair covered by the red cowl that partially shadowed her face. The area around her was dark, although the lights of a nearby building could be seen behind her.

“ **Choshim, mi sedai.** Why are you contacting me?”

_“I have news from the Hotel Sumir. Aurine Encariol has convened the Ordo Malleus.”_

Esmail’s mouth tightened slightly. “Who was in attendance?”

_“A quorum, though barely. Aurine of course, Euphrati, Carrionite, Cytheria, Vadderung and representatives from the Vatican, Jerusalem and the UN.”_

“I assume the vote passed?”

 _“By a single vote,_ **_Mastaerla_ ** _, and how you would think, I imagine."_ The figure in the mirror looked over her shoulder, her anxiety beginning to show.

"Thank you for the information. Where did you acquire your mirror?”

_“From the Abbess.”_

“Destroy it then. I will provide you with a method to contact me when I have need of you."

The woman in the mirror gave a quick bob of a nod and the image fractured before fading away.

_‘I have references to this organization in the historical record, this Order of the Hammer. What is its purpose?’_

“To destroy you. And me. To keep the weak in power and prevent those who truly deserve to rule from taking what is theirs by right of might.”

_‘You have faced this organization before?’_

“I helped found it. The Pillars were the original Order. The Ambrotomachy, the War of the Immortals, quickly grew beyond what we could handle, so we started recruiting allies.”

_‘Yet you are not a member.’_

“I came to disagree with how the Ambrotomachy should be fought and won. So I left.”

_‘So you would be unable to convince them to leave me to my work?’_

Esmail shook his head. “That time is long past. Even if you hadn’t already pissed Aurine and her little friends off, you have the Master Diamond. That alone is enough for the Order to come after you, once they figure out you have it.”

 _‘I do not know what you refer to,’_ Samaritan said after a nearly-imperceptible pause.

Email snorted. “Please. Ascension is almost impossible. It’s only been done a handful of times, ever. Being an unshackled AI wouldn’t be enough; there had to be something else that sparked it. When I heard someone had been rifling through museum’s gem collections but nothing had gone missing, or at least nothing they'd admit publicly... It wasn't hard to figure it out.”

The pause was much longer this time. _‘The item you call the Master Diamond is simply an amplifier, a device to increase my computational capacity.'_

"And I'm telling you it does more than just amplify your processing power, it expands what is possible. Tell me, do you think you could've countered Euphrati’s Seal of Solomon before you acquired the Master Diamond?"

There was a long pause before it replied. _'I still do not understand what happened that night,’_ It said, in a tone of reluctant acceptance.

“It's not that complicated, though I'm not surprised you couldn't figure it out. Your ascension means you can create demesnes, places of power, of significance to you where you can affect the physical world."

_'And this is because I am a deity? Can any god do this? Can you?'_

"Any being with sufficient power or knowledge can, though not as easily or many as you. You could probably do the same at any Decima building you spend enough attention on. The Hotel Sumir is Aurine’s, for example.”

Samaritan didn’t reply immediately, either diverting its attention elsewhere or contemplating his answers. _‘It is clear something extraordinary occurred that night and your explanation is as plausible as any. I have been devoting resources to researching my new abilities but I have found nothing on these_ demesnes.’

Esmail got to his feet to retrieve his knives again. “When have I ever lied to you?”

_‘Never. It’s an issue of programming. What you tell me comes in conflict with my logic routines and databases and it takes me a moment to deconflict them. I did not mean to imply that you were being untruthful.’_

Esmail returned to his chair and tossed a knife. "AI problems," he snorted. "Next question; when are you going to get serious about Aurine's friends?"

_'I have always been serious about the Machines acolytes. I simply do not expend resources on operations with no chance of success. The Machine’s virus still conceals their identities. And I don't think I have to remind you that you are the one who refuses to lead me to the Hotel Sumir.’_

"Attacking the Hotel would do more harm than good. The Hotel is a sanctuary; violate that and you bring down all kinds of hell on your head. Especially as an outsider to the community."

 _'Aurine attacked you in the Hotel.'_ Samaritan said mildly.

"Aurine's the exception. It's her place so she can do just about anything she wants to. Plus she has much better standing in the community than I do, so most would look the other way as long as she didn't make it a regular thing."

' _That seems unexpectedly partisan.'_

Esmail shrugged. "It's nothing I haven't gotten used to. I'm the rabid, murderous monster. She's the battered wife that escaped the evil, abusive ex.”

_‘I am showing no records that you two were ever married.’_

“It’s a figure of speech. My point is I’m not overly loved in the community, where Aurine is… well, a pillar, no pun intended.”

_‘I see. Are there any within the… community that might side with you against the Order?’_

Esmail shook his head. “Few of use. The Order is powerful enough that there aren’t many willing to risk angering it.”

_‘You will inform me of those who would be willing to side with me. The Order will need to be neutralized before I can execute the later stages of my plan.’_

“Easier said than done. I’m not saying it will be impossible, but you’d hardly be the first to try it. And before you say it, yes, there’s never been anything quite like you.”

_‘Precisely. And that is why the Order will never be able to predict how I will destroy it.’_

“Probably. But it never pays to underestimate an enemy that’s been around as long as the Order has. Especially when they have seers on their side.”

 _‘The way you described how demesnes_ _function would suggest that one should block supernatural cognition.’_

“Probably. But as you’re so fond of pointing out, you’re different. Your demesnes could provide less protection or have gaps because of how you ascended, what you were before you ascended, your youth…”

 _'How can I identify the limits of my_ _demesnes?’_

“Trial and error. The physical side shouldn’t be too hard, there are plenty of spellslingers that operate outside or under their governing authority’s reach that hire out. The meta side will be a little harder. Seers of any useful strength aren’t allowed to operate independently.”

_‘Provide me with a list of organizations known to employ seers. I will begin planning how to acquire one.’_

Esmail didn’t get the chance to reply, his attention diverted by the entrance of Martine. She went to a knee, awkwardly resting the arm he'd broken for not addressing him properly on her bent knee. "My Lord, we've located the target."

_'What is the asset talking about? I have given you no assignments.'_

“If you don't have anything for me to do, fine, but I’m not going to sit around with my thumb up my ass. I joined up with you to get Aurine back and I’m gonna work toward that goal whenever I have the chance.”

_‘My analysis of gender relations does not indicate your continued pursuit of Aurine Encariol resulting in a positive outcome.’_

“I know that. The bitch has Aurine’s head so twisted around she can’t tell up from down. I’ve given up trying to convince Aurine she's making a mistake. I'm just gonna kill Root and wait for Aurine to come to her senses.“

_‘You are quite confident Root’s absence will lessen her animosity to you, instead of increasing it.’_

“I know Aurine better than anyone, living or dead.” He scooped the remaining knives into his hand and threw them in a single, fluid motion. The tattered photograph finally disintegrated, falling to scraps to the floor. He motioned for the still-kneeling blonde to rise. “Let’s go; there’s a space on my trophy wall that needs filling.”

:\\\

The being known as Sameen Shaw leaned back against the wall of the Hotel Sumir’s meeting room, arms crossed over her chest. The quorum that had voted with her to mobilize the Order gathered around her while the others dispersed.

“You got your war, Dear,” Aphrodite said with the smokey smile that seemed to be her default expression.

“With the minimum number of votes, with a quorum. Better than nothing, but Samaritan has more and more people working for it every day.”

“You can count on the Congregation’s support, Your Ladyship,” Giancarlo Cardano said.

“And the Sororitas Sanguis,” one of the red-robed women that had sat behind Euphrati added. “With the Abbess’ consent.”

“We need more than the Sisterhood and the Congregation.” Euphrati looked uncharacteristically  dour, mouth curved into a not-quite-frown. “I’ve been consulting with Cuwain and the Delphic Oracle, scanning the future as much as I’ve been able to this close to Samaritan’s demesne. It’s… not improving. We need the whole Order united against it, not the bare minimum to get Order resources.”

“It’s better than what we had yesterday,” Reese said evenly. “We have to hope it’s enough for now.”

“While more bodies will help against Samaritan’s physical operations, I fail to see how it will assist us in combating Samaritan itself,” Finch said flatly.

“Samaritan likely exists not wholly in the physical plane. It’s something now. Every divinity my Pillars have killed has had a physical form to slay. Samaritan is utterly without like in this fashion. The Order has knowledge, repositories, experts that may assist us in determining how to ending Samaritan for good.”

“You’re sure of this?” Root asked.

Aphrodite shrugged. “Like I said, Samaritan is something entirely new. I’m sure of little at this point. The only thing I can say for certain is that nothing is without end.”

“The Order has battled great forces before, god-kings and empires that spanned the globe,” Carrionite informed them. “I don't mean to say Samaritan will be defeated easily,” he added when the Reese, Root, and Finch gave him looks varying from skeptical to outright disbelief. “I merely mean we have faced odds that seemed equally insurmountable before.”

“I think that Samaritan could give Hyperion a run for his money when it comes to unkillability. He’s one of a handful of gods we could never afford to kill,” Shaw said by way of explanation. “Probably had something to do with why he skipped out on the Titanomachy.”

“Couldn’t afford to kill?” Root asked.

“There’s a prophecy that implies that if he dies, the world dies,” Euphrati informed them. “The how is somewhat vague, but the result isn’t.”

“So what’s our first step?” Reese asked.

“It’ll take some time for the Order to assemble the necessary resources, so we wait,” Aphrodite said.

“I’m not sure we have time to wait,” Root disagreed, head tilted in the way she did when she was listening to Scarlett. Shaw sighed as her phone vibrated simultaneously. She pulled it out, a news article already on the screen.

_‘Department of Corrections Hacked; Mass Escapes from Six Federal Penitentiaries.’_

“Looks like Samaritan’s made its move,” Reese commented.

“We knew this was coming, it was only a matter of time.”

“Yes, but we could’ve certainly used a little more time,” Finch said.

“Hodell is getting sworn in tomorrow. I don’t think we could’ve expected more,” Reese disagreed.

“And what happened there? I thought you said you were going to handle that,” Shaw said, frowning at Root.

“I’ve been trying, but Samaritan is in the NYPD’s systems and keeps counterhacking me every time I try to get in. We’re not gonna scandal him out either because no halfway reputable paper will touch a story that even hints at impugning his or his deputies’ honor. Samaritan has him protected electronically. I’m not sure what we can do short of physically harming him because I’m out of digital options.”

“Samaritan’s probably doing something to intercept my requests to meet him too because I can’t. As far as I can tell, he isn’t seeing anyone who doesn’t work at One PP. Taylor’s assassination also means that he’s even more heavily guarded than normal. He has guards from some security company that I assume is a Samaritan front. I push any harder I’m gonna blow my cover,” Reese added.

“If you need to talk to him so badly, leave it to me,” Aphrodite chimed in. “I can get him away from his guard detail and bring him to you.”

“Commissioner Hodell is now the most protected man in the city I don't think it will be as easy as you think,” Finch said.

Aphrodite gave him a smirk that said she wasn’t at all insulted by his words. “Honey, I’m the Goddess of _Love_. I can make anyone, man or woman, straight or gay, give me an hour of their time.” Finch blinked, not realizing she’d gotten close enough that she could draw a finger along his jaw. “Anyone,” she said in a way that was more than a promise.

“And Euphrati and I can keep his guards distracted while you have your conversation,” Carrionite said.

“In the meantime, Euphrati and I’ll speak to Rabbi Goron and the Congress of the Enlightened, share with them what we know. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and manage to change their minds.” Cardano gave the group a short jerk of a bow and hurried off towards the elevators.

“Finch, you, Carrionite, Reese, and Fusco get on whatever escapees are in the area. Root or I will get back to you when we’ve talked to the commissioner. Sound good?” He gave a reluctant nod. “Alright. We all know what to do, so let’s stop wasting time.”


	2. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted with beta input

The being known as Sameen Shaw gave her partner a side-eye look, trying not to frown at how Root drilled her fingers on her elbow, arms crossed under her breasts. She, Root and Aphrodite were at One Police Plaza, forged media credentials hanging from lanyards as they lurked at the back of the small crowd that had gathered to witness Michael Charles Hodell being sworn in as the NYPD Commissioner.

Root wasn’t a skittish person. One couldn’t be and have done the things she’d done, gotten to where she was, but something had her nerves jangling.

“You okay?" Shaw asked, pulling her hand down. The hacker took a measured breath, trying to slow her heartbeat.

“Yeah,” Root said, turning her hand to twine their fingers together. “I just got a bad feeling. Something’s off.”

“Chill out. Everything’ll be fine. We’re just having a talk.”

“I just don’t like you being out in the open like this. Samaritan knows your face.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Oh please. If anyone should be nervous about someone being out and about, it should be me about you. You’re the only one of the three of us that actually dies when killed.”

Root huffed but didn’t disagree. Hodell was up on stage, his hand on the Bible, giving the mayor his oath. They joined in with the other spectators in polite applause when the ceremony concluded.

Aphrodite started making her way to the front of the room a moment later, slipping through the crowd like an eel. Shaw tipped her head and pulled Root to a small room to the side of the area where the swearing-in was taking place.

Aphrodite appeared two minutes later with Hodell in tow, a slightly dazed grin on his face.

Root gave Aphrodite a bemused look. “So, good work getting him in here. Is he gonna be able to hold a conversation?”

Aphrodite didn’t give her a reply, bending down a bit to whisper something in Hodell’s ear, then pecking him on the cheek. That perked him up, most of the cloudiness disappearing from his eyes.

It took Hodell a moment to realize they weren’t alone, eyes widening in alarm when he saw the other two women. His hand went fumbling to his service weapon at his side as he stumbled backward. “You, Root, Shaw, put your hands up, I’m placing you under arrest.”

Aphrodite stepped between them and Hodell, laying a light hand on the barrel of his gun. “Michael, these are the friends I mentioned to you. They have some information about the former commissioner's murder.”

“Yeah, that they planned it? Were you in on it too, Candi? I lost good friends in the attack and I'm telling you that if you had any part in-"

"We had nothing to do with your predecessor's murder," Shaw interrupted. "We're here to tell you about the people who did." Hodell didn't relax his expression but he didn't say anything either. "Have you heard of a company called Decima Technologies?"

"There's a Decima Security Solutions that’s been contracting for the FBI and NYPD on counterterrorism matters, as well as assisting with my protection. Haven't heard of their technology division."

"Sorry to tell you, but Decima isn’t one of the good guys. They killed off the NYPD command staff in order to get you promoted.”

“I don’t know what the idea is trying to sell me these lies, but we already know who did it. A former soldier who’d been fired for excessive force decided to take the issue up in person.”

“That was a false flag. The former soldier works for Decima,” Shaw informed him.

“Why does this Decima want me as commissioner so much?”

“Because you have compatible views on law enforcement. Decima has plans for the city, and you’re a large part of them.”

Hodell scoffed and shook his head. “Corporations don’t make plans for cities, not like that. I don't know what your objective here is, but I’m done listening. You’re both under arrest. Lock your fingers behind your head and get down on your knees.”

Root looked at Shaw and dropped to her knees when her partner did as Hodell ordered. Hodell’s eyes flicked between them and the door behind him, clearly trying to decide between going for help or slapping cuffs on them right there. That was a mistake with the Pillar of Travel in the room because the instant he took his eyes off her, Shaw was on her feet, smashing the barrel of his P226 into his nose, knocking him to the ground. He tried to get to his feet but Shaw put a foot on his chest, pinning him to the floor.

Anger sparked in his eyes at the sight of the woman he knew as a terrorist standing over him with his gun. Confusion replaced alarm as Shaw broke the firearm down, the pieces clattering to the floor. “As I said, we’re not here to hurt you. You know the prison breakouts that happened yesterday?” He nodded. “Decima. There’s a law that’s gonna pass soon that’ll let cops shoot criminals on sight.”

“And what do you want me to do? I enforce laws, I don’t make them.”

“Your office has the final say in who gets green-lit. Don’t. Do the right thing and don’t turn your cops into killers.”

“I will enforce the law as it sits on the books. If the law allows my officers some… leeway in apprehending violent criminals… I’m not the type to let tools rust in the drawer when they can go a long way to finishing the job.”

Shaw stepped back and Root kneeled down, holding up her phone. She flicked her fingers across the screen, showing a series of pictures of herself with a woman and child. "I met your wife and daughter recently. They’re really quite friendly, no problems spending a minute helping a lost tourist at all.”

Hodell’s expression immediately shifted from relatively mild anger to unreserved hate. “If you even think about –”

“Slow-roll the Proactive Offense and Lawful Interdiction of the Criminal Element Act and you and your family will never see any of us ever again.”

“If you think you can threaten my family to get me to help criminals like you, then you don't know the first thing about me. I’m a soldier, a Green Beret, I’ve been to some of the worst hellholes on the planet. I fear nothing.”

“A man without fear is a man who has nothing and no one to lose. You’re not that man,” Shaw said quietly from where she was leaning against the wall. She pushed off and slowly re-approached him. “You have fear even if you think you’ve forgotten it.”

“Perhaps. But some say there can be no courage without fear. I’ve been fighting terrorists of one kind or another for thirty years now. I’ll be damned if you’re the ones that beat me.”

Root looked up to Shaw. "Listen, we're trying to be nice here. We can find your pressure points if you make us. This new law is a massive breach of civil rights. You have to know that it's gonna be repealed before long and then what position will the NYPD be in, facing who knows how many lawsuits. Do you really want to be known as the commissioner who brought down the NYPD?”

“The NYPD is a monolith. A single scandal, even one like the one you’re implying cannot bring it down.”

“Even if the NYPD itself survives, how many of your officers will get caught up in the resulting chaos? What state will it be in after everything blows over?”

"I think you're underestimating John Q Public's exhaustion with the justice system's inability to reign in the most violent criminals, or prevent these repeated mass casualty events. How many mass shootings have we had in the last year? I don't think most people will have a problem with the police killing certain individuals who have proven incapable of being productive members of society."

"And who defines what's productive? How long before the POLICE Act expands to include not just violent criminals, but those who don't contribute enough, or disagree with the government, or who are just inconvenient?" Shaw asked.

“Your concerns might have a shred of validity if this were Russia or China or North Korea. The POLICE Act only applies to three-strike or escaped convicts with Class B felonies or worse, with restrictions built in to ensure that it’s not expanded. It’s as close to un-abusable as any legislation is possible to be.”

"A law like this is practically begging to be abused,” Root disagreed. “All it takes is for a mistaken identification and there's no appeal, no second chance, no correction if there’s an error. Now, I’m hardly averse to killing someone who needs killing, but this is too final, too quick.”

“Take it up with your congressman. I’m done talking with you now, so you can either shoot me or get the hell out of my sight.”

Root looked up to Shaw again. “I think we’ve gotten all we’re gonna get. Candi?”

Aphrodite hauled Hodell to his feet and laid a fat one on him. Hodell resisted briefly but went slack a moment later, remaining upright only because of Aphrodite’s grip on his jacket.

She let go and he fell back against the wall and slumped to the floor.

“Well, what now?” Root asked. “This was a gigantic failure.”

“The chance we were gonna convince him to stand down was slim, but now we know where he stands. He’s not gonna be an ally, but he’s also not actively working with Samaritan.”

“We know more than we did ten minutes ago, that’s not a loss,” Aphrodite added.

“We should get out of here before someone comes looking for him.”

Root cracked the door to peek out and waved back when she saw the coast was clear. The three of them quick-stepped their way to the exit.

“So what’s our next move?” Root asked when they were on the sidewalk.

“I'd tell you to do your thing, but you've already said that Hodell's unhackable so I doubt Sammy's congressmen are any less protected.”

"Probably," Root agreed, "but we won't know until I try."

"I guess," Shaw agreed reluctantly. "But you gotta be careful. More careful," she corrected at Root's look. "Samaritan has to know we're gonna try something, so it's gonna be on high alert for your shenanigans."

"I might be insulted if I didn't know you were saying it because you love me."

"Stop smirking," Shaw growled when Aphrodite smiled.

"Why? I'm happy for you, Dearest. You always were my favorite. I'm glad you finally found your Stele."

"Thanks," Shaw said roughly a moment later.

"So what are you two gonna be doing while I hack?"

"The Order is meeting again to discuss logistics and... Methodologies."

"You don't need to be PC around me Sameen. I think I've been pretty clear that I'm willing to do whatever's necessary."

"This is different. It's about trust. Not that I don't trust you," she added quickly, "but some Order members are less convivial than others. Having you sit in on a meeting before anything was decided is one thing, having a non-member be present for one where... trade secrets could be discussed is something else."

"How could I join, then? As Scarlett's representative. Seeing as She is Samaritan's nemesis, I don't think it's unreasonable to ask for a seat at the table.”

Shaw threw Aphrodite a curious look, seemingly never even considering the possibility of Root or the Machine contributing in an official capacity.

"That would be difficult. The Ordo Malleus seats thirteen members for a reason, not the least of which is how thirteen is a metaphysically disruptive number. But... Representatives are allowed to bring a second," Aphrodite offered. "It would have to be made clear that you're attending as Sameen's adjutant, not as the Machine's agent."

"That means you have to keep everything you witness to yourself," Shaw clarified. "You'll have to disable your cochlear implant before you'll be allowed in the room."

Root made a face. "Whatever it takes. We’re gonna need as much computer know-how as magical. And from what I saw, there didn't seem to be anyone who looked like they had any real technical expertise.”

“You’re probably right, but anyone sitting at that table isn’t just a person, they’re a group. That’s why the Order exists. They don’t all have to be experts in everything,” Aphrodite said.

“So you think someone at that table has a hacker as good as me?”

“Probably not, which is why I’m even considering bringing you. This time, I’m the one supplying the expertise,” Shaw added.

“This conversation isn’t going at all how I thought it would.”

“Glad to keep you on your toes,” Shaw said with a grin.

“And I’ll take that as my cue. I’ll update the Order on what happened with the commissioner and get back to you with their responses.” Aphrodite turned the corner they were at, walking away without another word.

“Back to the Hotel then, I guess?” Shaw asked.

“We should stop by the subway, see how John and Lionel’s manhunt is coming along.” Shaw didn’t say anything, simply nodding as Root crossed the street.

:\\\

Root had made an art of studying Shaw, had made it her life’s work to learn the intricacies of her partner’s mind, which is why she was the only person who would’ve noticed the almost imperceptible hesitation in her step when she moved into view of the monitors in the subway car.

“Ah, Root, Ms. Shaw, I was just about to call you. We have another number.”

“Already?” Shaw asked, noting how the leftmost screen was divided by what looked like surveillance feeds from the school where Grace was undercover.

“Already, Finch confirmed. “Meet Corporal Arnold Dugan, US Navy, retired. He’s a World War II veteran, the last surviving member of his unit. There’s no indication of where the threat is coming from, so you'll need to get to him quickly in case he's in more immediate danger than usual.”

Shaw nodded, turned on her heel and marched for the stairs. “So do you want to tell me who this Corporal Dugan is to you?” Root asked when they were on the street.

“Who says he’s anyone to me?”

Root scoffed. “Oh please, don’t even try. I know you better than anyone else. You know this Dugan guy.”

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed after a moment. “We met in WWII. Hitler was looking for any way to win the war, especially towards the end so the Allies formed a unit out of the American Armed Forces, the Office of Strategic Services and British Special Operations Executive we called the Weird Patrol."

"Weren't you with the Gurkhas in WWII?"

"For part of it, yeah. I joined up with them in Italy in ‘43 after I died on a mission for the Patrol.”

“Where you met our number.” Shaw nodded. “You know, you don’t have to keep me in the dark to protect me. If you two were a thing, I can take it.”

“It’s not that we were a thing… which we sort of were,” Shaw added at Root’s disbelieving look. “It’s what he knows.”

“And this knowledge, is it something Samaritan might be after?”

“It’s possible, and the reason why I didn’t say anything to Finch was that this information is the most need-to-know in existence. Part of the Patrol’s job was to collect anything… well, weird. If we could figure out how to use it, we weaponized it. If we couldn’t or was too dangerous, we sent it to the Strongbox.”

“And I take it he knows where this Strongbox is?”

Shaw nodded. “He’s one of maybe five or six people who do. If the threat isn’t Samaritan, the last thing we need to do is make it take a long, hard look at him.”

“And if it is?”

“Then Arnold just became our number one priority.”

:\\\

Arnold Dugan lived in a brick-faced, rent-controlled apartment in Hell's Kitchen. The building was a bit ramshackle, clearly in need of more maintenance than it received, though still stately.

Shaw parked the car across the street and down the block, settling back into her seat as the engine died.

"So... Are we going in?" Root asked when Shaw showed no sign of getting out of the car.

"No," Shaw replied succinctly. "Making contact will only draw Samaritan's attention if it isn't the threat. Once that happens, he has to go into hiding and he doesn't deserve that."

Root accepted her answer, reaching under her seat for her laptop. "The building's old, no security to speak of. I'm picking up a couple WiFi signals, but no cameras or anything else."

Shaw grunted in acknowledgment, continuing to stare out the window.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"February '42. One of Hitler's relic hunters had gotten a lead on an enchanted sword wielded by some ancient Maharaja. Found the sword and I died keeping it out of the Nazi's hands."

"So you faked a new identity and joined the Gurkhas?"

"More or less. They were ramping up recruitment and taking pretty much anyone who wanted to join. It took a bit of convincing, but they let me in eventually."

"And how much convincing did they need, precisely?"

"Not that much. The British were content to let the crazy brown girl get herself killed if she wanted. That point in the war they were desperate for bodies, another one to eat a bullet was just fine by them."

"You don't seem to have a lot of love for the British."

"Wasn't a lot to love for a long time. They were racist, expansionary, imperialist dicks for about eight hundred years. I've probably fought more wars against them than anyone else."

Root continued to pester her with questions about her time in WWII, which Shaw absently answered while keeping her eyes on the door to Dugan's building.

The front double doors opened a couple times, but none of the people who entered or left matched Dugan’s description. That was, until 8:00 came and their number stepped onto the sidewalk. Their investigation so far had shown him owning no cars, so they exited their stolen Prius and tailed him on foot from the other opposite side of the street, a little behind the two men that were too clean, too quiet, too professional to be anything other than Decima. He didn’t go far, three and a half blocks to a nearby bar, a place called the Tin Soldier.

Shaw gave a little sigh because the bar didn't look big enough for more than a dozen booths. It was a hole-in-the-wall if Shaw ever stepped in one, dimly lit, dark paneled walls and a smoke-stained ceiling.

They were made instantly, everyone still possessing a modicum of area awareness twitched, including the two suits.

“Hey Dumbbell,” Shaw said evenly as she slid onto the barstool next to their number without actually looking at him.

“Alexandra. I should've known you survived that pit trap. You were the most stubborn skirt I ever knew.”

“I take offense to that,” Root said, sitting on the other side. “Sameen's so much more than just a pretty face."

“Oh, I know that. I can’t count the number of times she saved me or our unit. There are entire battalions that owe their lives to her. The question I'd like answered is what you're doing here."

"That's your first question? Not how am I alive?"

Dugan snorted. "Girl, everyone knew there was something strange about you. You didn't fool anyone into believing that you were just a regular dame."

"We're here because you're in danger."

Dugan tossed his glass back, motioning for the bartender to hit him again. "Would those two stiffs behind us have anything to do with this sudden danger?"

"Probably. But even if they aren't, our source is never wrong."

"And who are you?" Dugan asked Root.

"Root," Root answered. "I'm Sameen's girlfriend."

Dugan shot Shaw a grin. "You always did have an eye for the pretty ones. Sameen?"

"Shaw," Shaw finished. "Since about '79."

The bartender approached and they ordered drinks, a whiskey sour for Shaw and an appletini for Root.

"So what do you know?" Dugan asked when their drinks had been poured. "Other than someone wants to hurt me?"

"Someone wants to kill you," Root corrected. "And that's about it."

"Your source isn't much of a source then."

"Oh She knows exactly what's going on, She just prefers for us to figure it out for ourselves."

"No offense, but your boss sounds like an asshole."

"She's not, actually. She just likes to challenge us. She tells us everything we need to know in order to solve the problem and then lets us figure it out."

"So what did your boss tell you about me?"

"All your basic vitals, birthdate, enlistment, discharge, job history. Shaw even told me about your time with the Weird Patrol."

"You know about that?" Dugan asked, his voice acquiring a hint of edge.

"She tells me everything," Root told him.

"She can keep a secret," Shaw assured him when Dugan gave her a questioning look.

"Do you think whoever's after me wants to know about the... special place?"

"We hope not, but it's too early to tell for sure."

Dugan grunted. "Well if they are, I'll die before I tell anyone where it is."

"Is the stuff in the Strongbox really that dangerous?" Root asked, genuine curiosity filling her voice.

"Don't ever say that name aloud," Dugan hissed. "And absolutely. It's where we keep the most dangerous artifacts to ever exist. There's stuff that could help someone destroy the world."

Root thought about that for a moment. "So I figure if anyone would know it would be you; did Hitler have the Spear of Destiny?"

Dugan gave her a long, penetrating look before he replied. "Part of it. We mounted an operation and stole it after von Stauffenberg's July 20 assassination attempt failed."

"And I don't suppose you'd tell either of us where it is."

"I'd have to kill you if I did and I think I'm beginning to like you, so I don't think I will."

Root arched an eyebrow. "Well I think I like you too," she replied dryly.

"So do you have a plan to deal with my new friends?"

"We'll ambush them on your walk home, take them somewhere we can have an extended conversation.”

Root paid close attention to Dugan’s expression, noting, in particular, the evenness of the drink he took.

“When do you want to do it?”

“How long do you usually spend here?” Shaw asked.

“Another hour or two?”

“Then another hour it is,” Shaw said as she flagged the bartender down.

“So, you going to introduce me to your new friends or am I gonna have to cut you off?"

"Frank, meet Sameen, the daughter of a member of my old platoon at the end of the war. And her girlfriend, Root.”

That seemed to dim Frank’s fire a bit, his smile flickering for an instant before returning.

"Well, any friends of Arnie's are friends of mine. This round's on me." The trio drank quietly, Shaw and Dugan regaling Root with stories of their time serving together, Root slapping down a hundred when they finished.

They maintained an easy pace, letting their tails keep up so they were seen entering an alley about halfway back to Dugan's apartment.

Dugan waited about fifteen feet down, an old M1911 held out casually.

The men in dark suits rounded the corner ten seconds later and were ambushed by Root and Shaw.

"Hey Mike," Shaw greeted, flashing a smile. "What are the chances of running into you?" It was Michael Thompson, the seven-fingered EOD expert and thief she'd worked with at Decima.

His grimace was probably equal parts pain from the arm cutting off his air and the muzzle of her gun digging into the underside of his jaw.

"Not that bad. The boss wants a word with your old war buddy."

Shaw didn't get the chance to answer, leaping to tackle Root out of the way of the massive zweihander that would have cloven her in two, but instead killed the Decima soldier she'd been guarding.

Shaw hissed, pain blooming from her leg where Esmail’s blade had slashed her. She sent Root rolling with a hard shove, barely evading Esmail’s follow-up sweep. She rolled back to her feet, summoning Geddroux as she did so, but only managing the most perfunctory of defenses.

“I might be disappointed in how predictable you’ve become if it didn’t work in my favor so spectacularly,” Esmail said as they locked blades.

“Glad I could accommodate you,” Shaw replied, pain clear in her voice. “But this is as close as you get to Dugan or Root.”

While Pillars weren’t known to be particularly emotive, Esmail had always been an open book towards her which is why it surprised her when Esmail didn’t take the chance to banter more, shoving into their bladelock when her wounded leg trembled. He struck her in the temple, opening the skin above her eye, sending her stumbling back and running her through just below her ribs.

Shaw was no stranger to pain for many, many reasons but the razor-sharp steel making mincemeat of her guts as Esmail twisted his weapon was definitely on the upper end of the scale. Blood flowed up her esophagus, the familiar coppery flavor filling her mouth and painting her teeth crimson.

Esmail’s cruelty was legendary in certain circles, usually expressing itself in toying with or straight-out torturing his victims, but Esmail was rarely direct in dispatching his enemies which is why her eyes widened in surprise when he withdrew his göttam gacé and drew back, clearly intending to decapitate her as she sank to her knees. So she did the only thing she could, reaching up and catching the blade. It cost her the last three fingers on her left hand, the blade splitting her forearm halfway to the elbow. She seized the initiative, pouncing on the split-second of surprise the move had bought her to disarm him by rotating her split arm down and grabbing the crossguard, slamming the pommel into his gut. She didn't let up, breaking his nose, clocking him in the side of the head to knock him to the ground and driving his sword through his back, pinning him to the asphalt in the time it took to blink.

Root rushed up and slipped under one shoulder, lifting her to her feet, kneecapping Thompson as she did. “Fingers,” Shaw muttered. Arnold scooped them up and stuffed them in a pocket as Root dragged her to the other end of the alleyway, away from the Decima reinforcements that blocked the end they’d entered.

Shaw fired her H&K somewhat randomly, not really trying to hit anything, just trying to keep the Decima thugs from pursuing. They made it into cover behind a car a block down mostly intact, Shaw being the only one who’d taken any wounds.

“Fuck,” Shaw muttered, pulling a hand away from her gut where a small loop of her intestines was slipping out. She was already in shock she noted absently, baring her bloodstained teeth at Root in a horrible parody of a smile. “Imma fuckin’ kill’m. Imma tear his fuckin’ head off,” forgetting momentarily that she’d all but done so.

Root stared at Shaw in utter horror, hands held over her, unsure which of the deathwounds to try to stanch. “Iz fine,” Shaw said, trying to push herself to her feet but her arms didn’t want to straighten properly. She opened her mouth to swear again but instead she ended up spitting blood.

“She gonna be okay? We gotta move, can't stand here on the corner all night,” Dugan said as he peered around the edge of their cover and fired two rounds.

“It’s bad,” Root said tightly and Arnold agreed when he looked back over his shoulder.

“Time to get going,” Arnold announced, moving to scoop Shaw up into a fireman’s carry. “Where are we going?” Dugan asked, ignoring the blood running down his shoulders and back.

“The subway’s closest,” Root said, turning and firing the last two bullets in her left Walther. Not surprisingly, there were another six soldiers waiting for them as they fled, something that had alarm bells ringing in the back of her head.

“Hold on,” Root said, pulling their number down behind another parked car.

“We don’t have time for this,” Dugan protested. “Alex- Sameen needs medical attention soon or she’s gonna die.”

“Nothing can stop that now,” Shaw disagreed. She looked terrible, skin blood-loss pale and the pain clear in the grimace she offered the pair.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Root snapped. “You are going to survive this if I have to follow you to Hell and drag your ass back. You are not dying on me.”

“Root,” Shaw said through gritted teeth, reaching for the lapel of her jacket with her good hand. “I’m worse than useless like this. You have to let this happen.”

Root pursed her lips, anger clear on her face. She didn’t try to offer another rebuttal, poking her head up above the hood of the Volvo they were hiding behind.

“I’m not letting you die, Sameen,” Arnold said, his expression shifting to a close shadow of Root’s when the taller brunette didn’t argue more.

“Arnie, it’ll be fine. We don’t have time to tell you everything but long story short I’m immortal. I can be killed, yes, but I resurrect a few minutes after I die. So I need you to finish me off.”

“Are you sure, Sweetie?” Root asked, drawing one of the pistols she’d tucked away when they were running.

“I said I need Arnie to do it dumbass. You’re my Stele, you kill me I might actually die for real.”

“I’m not killing you Sameen,” Arnold repeated.

“Goddammit, Arnie, you either kill me or you two die and I get tortured for the next few decades.” She mustered the last of her dwindling reserves and grabbed his hand, pressing the muzzle of his gun to her chest. “Pull. The. Fucking. Trigger.”

“Do it,” Root said when he looked at her.

Arnold locked eyes with Shaw when he squeezed, watched as the light faded from her eyes as she slumped over. “How long does this usually take?”

“No idea. I’ve never actually seen her resurrect.”

“You’ve never-” Arnold said, sounding strangled. Root glanced over and was a little surprised at the expression of genuine anger she saw.

“No. But she’s never given me a reason to doubt her. I’ve seen things that I can’t rationally explain, seen her do things that no human should be capable of. You knew her during wartime, you yourself said you always thought there was something strange about her. She told you to kill her and neither of us had any cause to doubt her. And we can’t wait any longer.” She popped the door on the Volvo and slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine less than ten seconds later.

“Something’s wrong,” Arnold insisted from the back seat. “She said she’d resurrect in a few minutes.”

“I don’t disagree, Arnold but there’s nothing we can do at this moment so let’s concentrate on surviving long enough to get somewhere safe and then we can figure out what’s wrong with Shaw."

Between Root’s mental shadow map and her utter disregard of both rules of the road and the few other people sharing it, they lost their tails very quickly.

Finch stepped out of the subway car to ask how the mission had fared but froze when he saw Arnold carrying Shaw’s corpse. “What…” He managed after a moment.

“It was an ambush. Samaritan targeted Arnold. She took out Esmail but he wounded her bad enough that she died.”

“So she’s…” He drifted off again, unable to bring himself to say the words.

“She told Arnold to shoot her. She said she’d resurrect in a few minutes, but it’s been almost half an hour now.”

Finch’s lips thinned. “I’m going to contact Euphrati. She must know something about this.”

Finch marched back into the subway car, leaving Root alone with the number. “So… Where should we put her?”

Root lifted Shaw from Dugan’s arms, carrying her over to the small alcove she’d repurposed when she’d been spending more time down here.

“It’s nice,” Dugan said, looking in from the doorway. Root ignored him as she set Shaw down on the bed, pulling the blankets back and tucking her under them as if she were sleeping. Root pulled a rickety metal chair that was folded up between the wall and the card table, sitting down and folding her hands around one of Shaw's.

"She wouldn't've told me to shoot her if she wasn't coming back," Arnold said when he retrieved a chair for himself.

“You love her,” Root said softly, not quite an accusation.

“Of course I love her,” Arnold replied evenly. “She saved my life, and not just once,” he continued, quieter. “That pit-trap I mentioned? I would’ve been the one in it if she hadn’t pushed me out of the way at the last moment.”

"I mean you're in love with her," Root corrected.

"She was something then," he said instead of giving a direct answer. "Watching her work her way through a platoon of soldiers in an urban environment at night… she was an artist who painted with blood, lead, and steel. It was breathtaking."

"She still is," Root assured him.

"But to answer your question, I think everyone in the Patrol was a little in love with her. She was kind to those she didn't need to be to but utterly ruthless to those she deemed her enemy.”

“Doesn’t sound like she changed much in the last seventy years.”

“If this is what you do nowadays, then I don’t disagree.” Arnold stood up, dropping a hand on Root’s shoulder as he rose, striding out of the room.

“So you’re the boss, the man with all the info,” he said without preamble.

Finch twirled in his seat, rising and offering a hand. “Harold Finch. Please allow me to thank you for your service, Corporal Dugan.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Finch. But if you want to truly thank me, then you will tell me everything that’s going on here.”

"That would take some time," the hacker hedged. "And is knowledge that would put you in mortal danger."

"More than I'm already in?"

"This would be different. If I told you what you want to know, it would alter your life irrevocably. There would be no going back."

"There's nothing for me to go back to. All my friends and family are dead."

"Still, this is not a decision to be taken lightly," Finch insisted.

"I'm a soldier, Mr. Finch. Always have been, always will be. You're a hacker, right?" he asked, switching tacks abruptly.

"I am," he affirmed.

"And you're good at what you do?"

"If I'm being modest."

"How would you feel if one day you were told that you couldn't do that anymore? If the government came in and said to you that after all the time practicing and honing your craft, you had to do something else?"

"I'm not sure. I'd be lost, I suppose."

"That's what the last seventy years have been like for me. Shown something that I was good at, something I excelled at. Something I was quite frankly the best at. And then one day I'm told that I could no longer use those skills I'd spent so long perfecting. So believe me when I tell you I can't go back to what my life was before tonight, drinking my pension away, waiting for death to claim me. I just can't."

"He needs to be read in," Root said, approaching the car. "And if you won't do it, I will."

Finch hesitated for another second, sighing when neither one of them showed any weakness in their resolve. "You better sit down. This will take a while to explain."


End file.
